Echoes of Silver Blue
by Graymalkyn
Summary: The lost chapters of the story of Irina Hawke and Fenris, as well as that of their companions and family. Written for the wonderful reviewers of Silver Blue.
1. Chapter 0, Of Cabbages and Kings

_**Of Cabbages and Kings,**_

**a.k.a. Chapter 0 (For Phoenyx634)**

**.**

I looked at the trail of bodies that my brother's men had left behind and shook my head. "Greed should never meet stupid," I said out loud, more to myself than to Bartrand. He wiped the blood off his rondel dagger and sighed.

"Well, there goes my last chance of finding a decent expedition partner," he said monotonously. Typical Bartrand. When things didn't work out for him, he went into these deceptively tranquil moods.

"Perhaps I should be the one to bargain the terms of partnership next time, brother?" I ventured.

"It is none of your bloody business, Varric," he grunted, giving me a stiff look. He assessed the hilt of his dagger – a star ruby adorned it, embedded there the day that he'd reached adulthood. Words were always a double-edged weapon in his lips. To the unfamiliar passerby, he was now being rude to me in an older-brother way. But I knew him better. Many years ago, Bartrand had thrown upon his shoulders the weight of House Tethras. It was his duty to succeed, his and his alone – for better or for worse.

I knew, when he walked away that night, that I wouldn't see that ruby again, or the signet ring he'd been toying with distractedly.

As I was walking back to The Hanged Man, I saw two Coterie men running away from the stairway that led to the docks. Their covered faces still conveyed a certain panic, and I wondered what had had them scramble to get away from the passage. I hid and peeked from behind the crates that were always stationed there.

"That'll teach'em," a blond man was bragging as he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "A few more jobs like this one, and you'll be on your way out, eh, Hawke? Away from the Red Iron at last…" The men behind him sniggered. I peered and saw a formidable young man standing alone. No, not alone. There was someone else behind him, someone that was trying to keep to the shadows.

"You'll collect your pay from Meeran tomorrow," the blond guy said. "In the meantime…" With his foot, he rolled one of the bodies to its back, causing the coin purse to come undone from the corpse's belt. The faint clink of the metal was dampened by the blood pouring out of the deadly wound. "You can loot this one here, if you need some cash for you and that _freak_ you've got there." Once again, the other men snickered, as they left the man and his companion alone.

I waited. For a moment, the man stood still. I feared that he'd seen me; my hand moved over Bianca, ready to use her if necessary. I was starting to feel the pangs of immobility when I heard it. A sob; quiet, but distinct. The man turned to the person standing in the shadows.

"It's over now, Irya," he murmured. His voice sounded unexpectedly comforting, but so tired.

"Let's just go home," the young woman pleaded, tugging at the man's shirt.

"In a minute," he replied. He looked back at the corpse and took a step towards it.

"Carver, don't…" the woman murmured.

I saw his face darken. His jaw was clenched, much in the same way as Bartrand's had been a while before. _Responsibility._ There was something there that made him bend down and pick up every single coin, even those that were coated in blood. Husband and wife? He wouldn't have dragged a lover into that, no. Brother and sister, perhaps? And since she'd been called a freak, she was possibly an apostate.

_Interesting,_ I thought. Mages were always useful, but they were only affordable if you either promised to protect them or threatened to rat them out. Meeran, eh? I'd have to have a word with him the following day.

And so I did, strictly behind Bartrand's back, of course. That was the only way things could ever get done.

"You want Hawke? Sure," Meeran shrugged. "He's worth it."

"Why are you letting go of him, then?" I asked, leaning back on my chair. "You're not one to let pawns wander off this easily…"

"The guy's repaid his debt," the old mercenary replied. He told me the story of the refugee and his family, and their escape from the blighted lands of Ferelden. The guy had even claimed that he'd killed an ogre – not by himself, but aided by his sister and another companion.

"And that's the reason why I'm letting him walk away," he finished. "When the other woman joined the City Guard, well… Let's just say that I didn't feel like stepping on those toes. Her argument was clear: either I released the siblings, or I'd find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to find some other town where I could do business."

"You're shitting me," I chuckled. "A _woman_ made you do that?"

"One with a strong sense of morality and a fucking big sword." Meeran smiled unpleasantly. "The only satisfaction I get out of it is that that redhead is bound to give him an equally bad time over this line of work, and I'm pretty sure they'll butt heads over it and I'll have him working for me again in no time."

"I'd like to know this woman," I smirked. "Sounds impressive."

I left with the name Aveline Vallen stored safely in my mind. I liked the idea of an incorruptible force of nature with red hair. I could sense a story building up in my head already.

"I know who you are," she said unaffectedly. "You and your brother are lucky that the Guild won't come to us for protection."

"I assure you, madam; everything is strictly within the law."

"Yeah, the law seems to have too long of an arm lately," she sighed. "What do you need with Hawke?"

"I'm looking for someone who can enter into a partnership with us. We're funding an expedition to the Deep Roads–"

"No."

"No?" I repeated, puzzled.

"It's dangerous down there."

"So it is up here, especially for a family that shelters an apost-" Before I could finish, she turned to me and grabbed me by the lapels of my coat.

"Careful, Tethras. You do not want to threaten my friends."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I muttered, slowly slipping away from her grasp. "I promise you, it isn't my intention to blackmail them. I'm just looking for capable people, and I've heard that this Hawke is one of those."

"I do not want to lose them to the Taint, and down there..."

"You're a smart woman. You know that they won't last long in Kirkwall unless they get rich. It's common knowledge that certain authorities turn a blind eye to wealthy families with magical members…"

Her green eyes glanced briefly at the door of the captain, and then they landed on me. She was unsure, I could feel it. Probably torn between what was more convenient and what was right. She couldn't see that it didn't have to be an 'either or' situation.

"I've already lost someone to the corruption of the Darkspawn," she said after a while. "I wouldn't like to see them go that way."

I didn't ask who she'd lost. It was obvious that she still didn't trust me enough to tell me about it, but I thought it was great progress to have her go from a rotund 'No' to a 'Perhaps' area. Did I need this woman's approval? Certainly not, but I really wanted to secure this deal, and something told me that her opinion would matter to that Hawke guy.

"Where would I find him, if I wanted to offer him a decent job?"

As it turned out, all I needed to do was wait. Chance found a way for us to get together in the form of my brother's refusal to take him along. I shook my head. Ah, Bartrand. When would he learn that he was not the shrewd businessman he thought he was? He was good to deal with bullies and the geriatric kalnas, but with _real_ people…

I am not easily moved, but there was something in the way that young man walked away from Bartrand that made me feel sorry for him. He turned to his sister and kissed her forehead. I could see her wringing her hands. For her to be safe, they'd either have to lay low or soar high, and now that he was out of work…

I was about to walk up to where they were when a most peculiar scene caught my eye. A disturbance: a drunkard bumped into Hawke and muttered a half-assed apology. I smirked. The oldest trick in the book, and the poor sod had fallen for it. No sooner had the drunkard turned round the corner than he seemed to regain his senses and he ran away, taking with him the pouch of coins that he'd stolen from the Hawkes.

At least he deserved points for_ trying _to get away.

I swear that if Bianca could growl, I wouldn't even need to shoot these losers. As it turned out, one shot was all I needed; something to throw him off balance. The guy staggered against the wall and I hit him with the stock of my trusty girl. Down he went, and I happily took the stolen purse from the passed-out fellow. Such a little thing had finally given me the chance to talk to this guy. I took a long look at the meager pouch. Inconsequential. And yet…

I added a few coins to it. It wasn't like he was going to count his coins before me – he'd be glad to get his money back. As I sauntered towards them, he turned to me, and I swear that he looked as if he'd been waiting for me.

"Catch!" I said merrily, as the pouch flew from my hand onto his.

His sister gave me a bewildered look, but his ocean-blue eyes seemed pleased. I smiled and said, "How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service."

.

.

.

**A/N:** So, the premise for this story was "A one-shot that focuses on Varric; I feel like he'd always be around when interesting things go down."

The title comes from the poem "The Walrus and The Carpenter", by Lewis Carroll. The stanza goes: "_'The time has come,' the Walrus said, / 'To talk of many things: / Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax / Of cabbages and kings / And why the sea is boiling hot / And whether pigs have wings.'_" I've always liked the idea of Varric as a potentially unreliable narrator _("Aveline, I thought you'd have noticed by now: I lie a lot"_), and he reminded me a bit of the tricky Walrus.


	2. Chapter 2-5, Silken Bindings

**_Silken Bindings_**

**a.k.a. Chapter 2.5 (****for EilonwyCousland)**

**.**

_~This story takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of Silver Blue. If you haven't read them, you can still follow this one-shot, which takes place after Anders is recruited._

**_. . ._**

"Perhaps, only _perhaps_ – and _please_ tell me that you can feel the sarcasm in my voice," Carver spat bitterly, "you should consider wearing something sturdier than that outfit next time! I might not be so fond of seeing you hurt this often, you know?"

"I. Am. _Fine_," Isabela grunted. "How many times do I have to tell you that? Look! Still standing strong, see?" She stomped her feet on the ground. "It takes more than a few lousy blows to bring me down."

"You were _bleeding!"_ he barked. "If Anders hadn't been there-!"

"Oh, shut it!" she said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't gotten to this age thanks to a healer. I swear, it's as if you were not confident in my abilities at all…"

"I'm not!"

"Ouch," she raised her eyebrows. "Well, thank you for your honesty. If I mean this much trouble to you-" Her light amber eyes opened wide when he kissed her. Warm and tender, just the way she didn't want him to be. She pushed him away gently, though, knowing that he hated it when she did that. "Stop. Stop this. I don't need your protection, Carver. I'm not your mother, or your sister."

"I know," he replied softly, trying not to look dejected.

Isabela scoffed. "Sometimes you're such a kid…"

He rested his hands on his hips as he stared at something on the floor, where some of her few possessions lay. Isabela suspected that there was nothing of interest to him there, but she played along and pretended to fix her necklace.

As she cleared her throat, she thought about what she could tell him to mend his wounded pride. Carver could be an ass, but he was still the kindest guy that she'd ever known. _Why do I keep pushing him away,_ she wondered. _Am I really so damaged that I cannot believe in his words when he tells me that I am what he wants?_

She raised her eyes and for the briefest of the moments, she caught him looking at her. What she saw in his eyes was something that she couldn't recognize at the time, but the memory of that familiar shade of blue dallied in her room long after he was gone.

* * *

The last swig burned her throat and she coughed. Aveline smirked. "Look who can't hold her liquor," she teased the Rivaini woman, who shook her head disapprovingly.

"I can drink you under the table any day, Manhands, if you ever decided to try something stronger than your fancy Orlesian wine."

"This is the finest Fereldan ale," Aveline protested.

"Finest, she says. Pffft. Fereldan ale is little more than piss," Isabela mocked her. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the secret ingredient."

"Oh, I'd forgotten how experienced you are in the area," Aveline replied, a little miffed. "I'm sure you've even opened bottles with your-"

"Hey!" Isabela waved at Fenris, who had just entered the tavern. "Fancy seeing you here. I thought you enjoyed being all lonely in that mansion…"

Fenris shrugged indifferently. "I felt like going out for a while, that's all."

"Right, and I'm wearing granny-panties." Isabela left her drink on the table and signaled one of the barmaids for more. "You're not looking for some action, are you?" She smirked when she heard Aveline grunt disapprovingly. "You still owe me, you know…" She extended her open palm and smiled as Fenris reluctantly dropped some silvers on it.

"That's all I got," the elf said.

The pirate blinked in disbelief. "Bullshit. What about that last job?"

Fenris shrugged again. "Money flows."

"You should know better, Rivaini…" Varric's voice chanted from behind. "What did I tell you about playing cards with Broody? If you weren't so into Carver," the dwarf said, settling into his usual spot and resting his feet on the table, "I'd tell you to get your payment in kind…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"Let me put it this way, elf…" The dwarf stretched like a cat, a smile dawning in his eyes. "Sometimes, when people can't afford to pay for something, they offer some goods or services in return. Perhaps there's something you could do for our Rivaini beauty here… Or maybe you have some livestock? A hen, or perhaps a co-"

"Varric!" Aveline barked, blushing furiously. Fenris grimaced and walked away from the group, towards the bar, rolling his eyes and grunting softly. The redhead glared at the two rogues, who were laughing at their friends' expense. "If Carver had heard you…"

"What. What would Carver have done?" Carver asked, taking them by surprise. Nobody knew how long he'd been standing there. Anders was behind him, looking round as if he'd never been in a tavern.

"Nothing," Isabela shrugged. Carver's eyes lingered on her face very briefly, and yet that was enough for Varric to clear his throat and direct his attention to the mage, who was trying to remain inconspicuous. Aveline stood up and rambled away, pretending to be interested in whatever it was that Fenris was drinking.

The silence between Carver and Isabela was thick and unusual. She knew that he still hadn't forgotten her last words to him, but she was not one to take back what she had said or done. Deep inside, she knew that she was right. Lately, Carver had been expecting too much from her. But he didn't know her. She was meant to be just a quick tumble, something for one night only. And yet…

Her eyes landed on his hands – strong, hardened, but above all gentle. His square-ish fingernails were clean as usual, and she thought how different he was from the other men. And the idea came to her mind, clear as day.

_I have to get away from here. _

What he wanted, she could never be. The image of his blue eyes was engraved in her mind; even if she ran away, it would always be there, she just knew it. She mentally cursed him as she drank the rest of her whisky.

"Will you just talk to me?" Carver muttered. "I just can't stand the silence."

_I don't want to talk,_ she thought. _It's the last thing that we should do._

She tapped her fingers on the edge of the table impatiently. Perhaps it was the drink, or the need to patch up the things between them, but it probably was the sight of those honest hands. She stood up and looked at him. That was all it took, every single time.

* * *

As soon as she had closed the door of her room behind them, she felt him pressing against her. His mouth searched for hers so hungrily, so intimately, that instead she felt the pressure of the unshed tears building up in her throat.

"Carver, Carver…" She pushed him away. There it was, that true-blue look of his… His eyes told her that he wanted her, but that he couldn't read her anymore. She stood in front of him, seeing his chest rising and falling, excitement mingled with confusion. So young, so good…

She let the hip scarf slip to the floor and she undid the laces of her bodice for him. As she turned around to take it off, she felt the familiar pressure of his fingers on her back, tracing up her spine. He removed her necklace and, as he kissed the soft spot behind her ear, he untied her bandana, letting her black hair cascade down her shoulders.

He wanted to turn her around, but she pressed her back against his chest, feeling his hands crawl up her body. She couldn't look at him. Whatever they had was just physical, fleeting; but if she looked into his eyes…

She couldn't risk it. She rubbed her backside against his hips as she moaned softly, arousing him. One of his hands slipped between her legs and she arched her back, begging for more. He complied. He carried her to the bed and as he lost himself inside her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing him towards her and leading him away and out of her.

_Just this time. We'll be bound once more, and then… _

He performed almost dutifully. He knew the routine, and when he moved away, she almost felt sad. She'd grown accustomed to him; her body knew his in a way that she hadn't expected. There had been just one other man that had made her feel this way, and _he_ had understood that the bonds between them were as delicate as silk: hold them too tight and they'll be marked and ruined forever.

_Why, Carver. Why can't you understand…?_

The touch of his fingertips running through her hair snapped her out of her reverie. She sat up and crossed her legs, still throbbing from the act.

"Carver…" she murmured. He waited.

_How did we end up like this?_

From the corner of the eye, she saw his hand reaching out. She stood up quickly and put her clothes back on – clothes rustling to fill the void between them. She rested her hands on her hips and looked up, trying to find the right words.

"We ought to be just friends, don't you think?" Her words fell flat. She swallowed hard. "What I mean is… I know the kind of life we lead. What happened the other night… Either of us could get hurt." She turned to look at him. His eyes were fixed on the lock of a chest that she kept near the fire. "I'm no mother hen, and you're-"

"Not a kid?" he asked, still staring ahead.

Isabela pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest. "You know what I mean."

"I do." His jaw was clenched tight, but he didn't look mad. It was as if he was steeling himself against the inevitable blow that would end it all. They both knew that it was coming, but neither felt like actually saying something.

_One of us has to grow a pair of balls,_ she thought.

"We're better off as friends. Partners. Or with occasional benefits; as you wish. We've done good things so far." She stepped forward. "I know what you want to accomplish, and where you'd like to be. I will help you."

"Isabela…" Carver murmured.

"No, listen – I will not abandon you. You've scratched my back, and I'll scratch yours, right? When you look for me, I'll be fighting at your side. But more, I can't-"

"I understand." His lips were curved in a simple smile –the 'farmboy' grin, as she'd called it once- and he nodded. "I'm not deaf or stupid, 'Bela. I won't ask again. We can be friends, but no more. And that's fine with me." His fingers were about to entwine her hair but he let his hand fall slowly. She forced herself to look into his ocean-blue eyes; they spoke the truth, and they told her of the pain of what would never be.

"I'm tired," she murmured with a forced smile.

"Of course," he blurted out awkwardly. He took a step back and turned around, walking out of her door for the last time ever.

Isabela waited. His footsteps, leading him away from her, mingled with the weak sounds of the tavern after midnight. She curled her fist into a ball and bit her own hand, breathing in and out slowly.

"Liar…" she whispered, closing her eyes.

Whether she was talking about Carver or herself, she couldn't tell.

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 5-5, Herbalist Tasks

**_The Herbalist,_ **

**a.k.a. Chapter 5.5 (for Nell)**

**_._**

_~This story takes place between chapters 5 and 6 of Silver Blue. If you haven't read them, you can still follow this one-shot, which takes place after Merrill has been escorted to Kirkwall._

**_. . ._**

"Enchantment?" Carver blinked.

"Enchantment!" Solivitus replied excitedly.

"Right, right…" Carver's voice trailed off. "Er… Enlighten me… I thought that it was the dwarves and the Tranquil who performed this practice?"

"Oh yes," Solivitus nodded. "The Formari just happen to have both of them in our ranks. We'd probably go out of business if it weren't so!" The man rubbed his hands together gleefully as he waited for Carver to make up his mind. "So? Do we have a deal?"

"What do you say, Anders? Do you think that we could get something good for Irina?"

"Oh, absolutely," the mage replied. "Some of these things can even be enhanced so that they help her with her mana problem."

"Then I'm in," Carver nodded.

"Splendid! Now, here's the list of ingredients I need. I'll write down the locations and… Should I write the instructions on how to get them?"

"No need," Carver shook his head dismissively. "How hard can it be?"

* * *

"Well, bloody hard. That's how it is," Anders grunted as he poked the dead spider with the tip of his staff. "You should have asked him for the instructions as well."

"I thought you'd know!" Carver kicked a loose tile, which ricocheted against one of the columns and hit Varric on the leg.

"Whatever you're doing, Big Boy, stop it. What's taking so long?" the dwarf asked, looking over Anders's shoulder. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Aren't you used to working with these creepy crawling things?"

"I may deal with centipedes and tiny insects, but I'm an herbalist. Plants don't usually come with pincers or fangs-Andraste's flaming-Ugh!" He gagged as the carapace of the fire spider burst open, revealing the steamy insides.

"Close it! Just shut it!" Varric shouted as he scrambled to get away.

Merrill and Irina watched them amusedly. "Shall I?" Merrill asked the other woman. "Then you can see how I do it."

"By all means," Irina replied, eager to learn.

The three men watched the mages get close to the spider. Merrill showed Irina how to extract the valuable organ as she carefully inserted the blade of her knife behind the head of the beast, slowly and carefully detaching it from the body until she found the delicate string that indicated the presence of the fire gland. "It's really no different from the poison gland," the elf explained as she fished into the body, "but we should contain it with a soft ice spell. Anders? Could you help me out?"

"Right," the mage nodded. He muttered the word of power and gentle snowflakes started pouring out of the light in his hands. Once the spell had counteracted the heat of the spider, Merrill snapped the cords that were still holding back the organ and swiftly slipped it into a bag that Irina was holding.

"Oh, wait. My mistake," Carver chuckled. "You'll have to open up another spider. It was a _silk_ gland, not a fire one." He heard a thump behind him. "I think Varric has passed out," he noted, pointing to the dwarf.

"I wonder why," Irina said, arching an eyebrow and getting ready to extract the organ from another spider. "He doesn't have a problem with blood."

"Poor little guy," Anders smirked. "The spider was just as big as he is. I used to have a dwarven friend who went berserk every time we stepped into a spider nest."

"But you don't seem to like them either," Merrill pointed out.

"Well, I don't make them _pop_," Anders replied. "Either I burn them, or freeze them. I don't have to see the insides to know they're dead."

"I'm thinking…" Carver murmured. "Can you guys enchant one of Varric's bolts? Just a little spell, so that next time he shoots at something, that thing explodes?" He looked at his companions, who were staring at him. "What? It's just an experiment. I want to see if it's the spiders that creep him out, or any kind of innards…"

"I should have stayed with Mother," Irina muttered as she crouched next to Varric with a reviving balm in her hands.

"Well, we're not enchanters… But there's a way to-Oh, I'll just do it," Anders said merrily. He chose one of the bolts from Varric's quirrel and quickly cast a spell.

"So, the silk gland is down… Next on the list is… Ironbark." Carver saw Merrill froze. "What?"

"Are you sure we have to get that?" she asked nervously. "Isn't there another item to fetch first?"

Carver looked at the list again. "A dragon fang."

They heard Varric laughing. "I'm sorry, my head's still spinning from that last shit but… You didn't say 'dragon', did you?"

"I did."

Varric guffawed, waiting for Carver to tell him that he was joking. He didn't.

"I'd go for the dragon," Merrill grumbled quietly. "I really don't feel like going back to the clan, so soon after I left. They'll probably take a look at me and they'll say, '_Ah, Merrill: emma na'vir tu; mala suledin nadas._' Ter'abelas…" she whispered, shaking her head sadly. Irina pressed her arm sympathetically and she looked at her brother.

"Perhaps we could take Merrill back to Kirkwall? I'm sure she doesn't need to return to Sundermount."

"Is that what you wish, Mer?" Carver asked kindly.

"Why does nobody ask if that's what the dwarf wishes as well?" Varric grunted. "I don't mind going back to the Dalish, but you'd better leave me behind when we're facing the dragon."

"You always write about dragons," Irina smiled. "Wouldn't this be a great opportunity to see one up close and find out if you've been right about them all this time?"

"Princess," Varric replied as he patted her hand in a patronizing way, "fiction doesn't need to be real. And besides, I could never describe the pain of a burning ass so accurately anyway, so no thanks."

"Come on, Varric," Anders quipped, "Where's that dwarven sense of adventure?"

The dwarf scowled for a while. There was something different about Blondie. Here, in the ruins, he was glowing. Not with Justice's burn, no. It wasn't magic. And then it dawned on him: it was the freedom, the fresh air… Varric realized that Darktown was just too gloomy for the mage, but it was also his only option. Up in the surface, he'd be an easy target, and even though he had friends and he had saved the lives of dozens of refugees, not many people would stick their necks for a mage.

"Alright," he finally grumbled. "Let's just take Daisy back to the alienage."

"Are you all mad?" Merrill blinked. "We're closer to the clan than we are from Kirkwall. I wouldn't bother you like that! Carver," she said, facing the warrior, "let's do it."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I've never been more certain." She held him by the hand. "I really want to do it."

Carver's lips curled into a smile, and he just nodded.

As they were leaving the ruins, Merrill murmured to Irina, "He's just missed yet another chance to say something dirty."

* * *

"Well…" Irina coughed nervously. "That… That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The party walked away from the clan in silence. They had tried to stay away from Merrill's bickering with the master craftsman, but there came a moment in which Carver had had to intervene. He, more than anyone else, was impressed by the elf's inner fire, and every now and then he turned to look at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"I wouldn't know," Anders shrugged, walking beside her. "Those were a lot of Dalish words for us to understand."

"And some of them didn't sound pretty," Varric muttered. "Daisy, if you need to shoot something-"

"I'm perfectly fine, Varric," Merrill retorted. "It was a good thing that I left behind that ball of twine you gave me. I was almost tempted to use it."

"Yikes." Anders raised his eyebrows and rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

"So… Darkspawn. What do you say, Irya? Our old friends from Ferelden on this side of the world. Just like old times! I so missed their smell!" Carver's feigned glee made his sister laugh.

"Well, now you'll get them grilled," Anders commented happily.

"So appetizing," Irina chuckled, sticking her tongue out.

"Nobody actually eats Darkspawn, do they?" Merrill asked, doe-eyed.

"If you must know, we once made a bet. That was when I was in Amaranthine…"

As Anders spun the story to the great delight of Varric and the women, Carver watched the three mages. Their cheeks were flushed from the exercise; their stride was carefree and although there could be danger any time they went round a bend, it would be something that they could handle. There were no Templars, no thugs – no fearful people to turn them in. He wondered if that was what his father had striven for: the freedom to fight, to love, to live.

"A copper for your thoughts?" His sister's soft voice brought him back to reality. She hooked her arm through Carver's and smiled when he tousled her hair.

"Are they worth so little?" he teased her.

"On the contrary," Varric quipped. "You rarely have them, so they're precious."

"I'll get you, smart mouth," Carver smirked, thinking about the hidden enchanted bolt.

When they finally got to the clearing, Anders raised his hand. "There's a group ahead, decent in size. Nothing to worry about."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Carver said, trotting ahead with a smile. As soon as he saw the first Genlock he gave out a battle cry, expecting to hear his companions right behind him. Nothing. He turned around and saw the three mages and Varric getting ready to shoot the beasts.

"Why, you ranged bastards!" Carver screamed amusedly as he charged against the grunts.

"Eh, I'd better get closer; I can't let him be cannon fodder," Varric shouted back as he left the mages at a good distance.

"Should we warn him about the spell?" Irina asked as she cast a spirit bolt.

"He'll find out soon enough!" Anders laughed, running forward to be closer to Carver, in case he needed some healing.

There was a sudden explosion and the body of a Hurlock burst into pieces in front of Varric. The dwarf gaped at the remains in utter disbelief. "Did… Did you see that?" he yelled. A half-smile appeared on his face as he kissed his crossbow. "Bianca, baby! When did you learn that trick? You are beautiful!"

* * *

"So, just to be clear… The fangs from those little ones won't do, right? It _has_ to be from the mother dragon." Varric sighed. "The shit I get into…"

"Say what you want, but I think you're enjoying this, Varric." Irina patted the dwarf on the shoulder as she passed by. She was glowing. Merrill's enthusiasm at the prospect of seeing a bigger dragon was contagious. Anders bragged about having already killed one, and Carver was looking forward to testing his mettle.

As it turned out, the dragon was easier to kill than the dragonlings because there was only one of them. No matter how tired they were, the mages kept running around her, casting their spells and healing Carver and Varric, who had become the bait. Anders's cold spells and Irina's spirit ones hindered the dragon's movements, and Merrill's knowledge of nature and wild magic kept her from effectively attacking the warrior and the rogue.

"It's a bit sad…" Irina said, kneeling down next to the dragon. Carver had refused to let her get near the body until he had chopped the head off. "If the miners hadn't torn down those walls, she could have continued with her life there, in the dark…"

"She would have found a way out, eventually," Carver said, wiping his forehead.

"Perhaps she wasn't ready yet," Irina murmured. Her brother gazed at her. He knew that she wasn't talking about the dragon anymore. He watched her extract the dragon's fangs with some effort and only after getting some aid from her fellow mages. Meanwhile, Varric was watching the dragon carefully, as if he was taking mental notes for a story he'd surely tell later on.

* * *

"Ah, Hawke! Good to see you again!" Solivitus exclaimed. "And the sister too! That's wonderful, I've got just the thing for her – all made with the elements you brought me!" He handed Carver a talisman. The string was made of sturdy silk, and it consisted of a band of ironbark encrusted with a thin layer of dragon enamel. Carver fastened it round Irina's neck.

"It will protect you while I'm gone," he smiled.

"Only till your return," Irina whispered as she hugged him.

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 10-5, Redblossom Special

**_Redblossom Special,_ **

**a.k.a. Chapter 10.5 (for bedandbreakfast)**

**.**

_~This story takes place between chapters 10 and 11 of Silver Blue. If you haven't read them, you can still follow this one-shot, which takes place after Carver has become a Grey Warden and left Kirkwall, and during Sebastian's personal quest, _Repentance_._

**_. . ._**

"Andraste's Flaming Heart!" The phrase escaped Sebastian's lips before he could process whether he was praying, invoking the name of the Holy Bride, or simply reverting to those years in which he'd sworn more often than not. "You made me carry this… this… _wicked_ thing all the way here and you knew what it was?" To his dismay, even Fenris chuckled. He blushed to the tip of his ears and pressed his lips together. "I do not find it amusing."

Varric laughed. "Now, Choir Boy, relax… It's just a little joke. Besides, it's just an object. Not that it's made you sin or anything."

"But this salve… It's to treat-"

"The most wonderful kind of rash," Isabela purred, mortifying Sebastian even more.

"Maker…" the Brother muttered, pacing uncomfortably.

"Enough, Isabela," Fenris droned. "You too, Varric. You've had your fun." He bore no love for Sebastian since he'd insinuated his intentions of marrying Irina, but he thought that sometimes the dwarf and the pirate went too far. They wouldn't have dared tease Aveline that way, though, so they weren't completely irrational.

But Sebastian was different. Either because his clothes were immaculate or his demeanor was always holier-than-thou, the archer had never been truly integrated to the group. Once Carver was gone, he rarely spent time with them. But now he needed some help, and since it was a personal matter, Aveline had referred him to Varric and the others, much to his disappointment.

However, Varric and Isabela had found a way to justify their help, and they'd made him carry the jar of Red Blossom Special that they'd retrieved from the Wounded Coast all the way to Darktown.

"Take care, Dalian!" Isabela waved goodbye as Varric pocketed the coins.

"You know that man personally?" Sebastian couldn't seem to keep his tongue still. It was no business of his if the pirate knew the owner of the tincture.

"He sometimes works for Seneschal Bran," she shrugged. "I bet the Redblossom was for him."

"You mean… But… Seneschal Bran is… Why would he need…?"

"Do you_ really_ want to know?" Fenris muttered, almost amused.

Sebastian sighed.

* * *

"So you want us to accompany you to the Harimanns'," Varric mused. "Did you know that Hawke gave Lord Harimann a reprieve? A couple of years ago, if I remember correctly."

"I didn't know," Sebastian replied. "Lord Harimann's ship capsized last year, possibly while he was sailing the Amaranthine. He was on his way to Denerim, but he never made it. That's when his daughter, Lady Johane, took over the family." He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. It was evident that the last heir of the Vael clan was having trouble asking for help.

Varric did his best to hide an incipient smirk. "Very well," he conceded. "If you lead the way, I'll give you a hand with that. After all, that's what Carver would do."

Sebastian regaled him with one of his rare smiles. "I was wondering… Perhaps Irina could come along?"

Varric was momentarily dumbstruck. "The Princess?" he asked eventually. "Why would you need her there?"

"Perhaps we could make Lady Harimann believe that we want to negotiate…" But the words met Varric's raised hand. The dwarf squinted.

"Oh… Oh, I see. You think that we're going to trick you, don't you? You know that we won't attempt anything foolish if Irina is there. Is this still about the Red Blossom Special?" Sebastian's blushed cheeks told him everything he needed to know. He sighed. "Messere, you wound me. We are professionals. When a job needs to get done, who else are you gonna call?"

* * *

Isabela snuck quietly down the steps to the pantry, where the noise was coming from. She signaled her companions to follow her when she saw only one woman.

"That's Flora Harimann," Sebastian murmured as he stood straight. "She's always been a reasonable young lady; when I first met you," he told Irina with a smile, "you reminded me so much of her." He saw Fenris standing behind the mage. He looked a little jealous, and even though he knew that taking pleasure in such petty thoughts was no humble action, Sebastian felt that reminding Fenris of his place was the right thing to do. "We should talk to her. Milady Harimann. Flora!" he called out.

But the young lady was mumbling to herself as she patted a wine cask. "Come ooon!" she groaned in frustration. "I know you have more of that grape juice in there. Don't be selfish!" She knelt down and placed her lips around the end of the tap, licking a few drops with gusto.

"Oh, wow… Is that what I look like after drinking all night long?" Isabela asked, amused.

"I never thought I'd say this," Varric replied, "but you ooze dignity in comparison."

"Speaking of which," Fenris smirked, "weren't you just comparing Irina to this lady, Sebastian?"

"I certainly hope you don't see me that way," the mage murmured.

"No!" Sebastian shook his head emphatically. "There's… It's a mistake. This cannot be. Flora!" he called out again.

But the young Lady Harimann kept banging her fists against the barrel. "Why are you so meeean… Just… Just gimme more… I need it!"

"Ooh, things are steaming up," Varric chuckled.

"I have no idea what is going on…" Sebastian murmured. "It's like she cannot hear m-"

"I need to drink… How else am I s'pposed-" she started hiccupping, "to marry that brute Goran? I ca- I can't do it sssober! But if it'd been Seb-Sebassstian… Oh, that man… Those eyes… And that sleek hair…" Her hand cupped her own breasts as she rubbed her body against the wine cask.

Irina gaped at the young woman with wide eyes. Isabela and Varric snorted, and to Sebastian's embarrassment, even Fenris let out a chuckle.

"Let's just get out of here!" Sebastian shouted, pushing his companions up the stairs. He was starting to regret his decision to bring Irina along.

"Calm down, Sebastian," Irina said, patting his arm gently. "You had no idea-"

"Besides, it was not so terrible," Isabela reassured him. "It's perfectly normal for young ladies to have bodily urges…" She inconspicuously eyed Irina, whose face became flushed. "And creating a fantasy for their alone time is the easiest way to 'praise the Maker', if you know what I mean…"

Fenris coughed uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should move on."

"Right," Sebastian sighed. He heard some noises coming from one of the back rooms. He signaled his companions to follow him. "That has to be Ruxton Harimann's study. Of course! He's a pious man. Something must have happened to him – he wouldn't have let his daughter descend into that state of… Of…" His hand was on the doorknob, but he had paralyzed.

Those sounds… He knew them well…

"Sebastian, are you alright?" Irina asked, concerned. She looked at the others and shrugged.

"What is going on?" Fenris said as he moved closer to the door.

As soon as his ears caught the lustful moaning coming from the room, he turned crimson. "We should stay away from here."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, what is the matter?" Isabela asked, annoyed. She kicked open the door and barged into the room, Varric and Irina trailing behind her. "Oh! OH!"

Varric snortgiggled. "If that is pious, then I'll attend the Chantry sermons more often!"

"Irina, please!" Sebastian said, covering the eyes of the mage. "I swear, this man is a complete prude!"

"My kind of prude!" Isabela muttered, fascinated.

"Would you kindly get your hands off her?" Fenris hissed at Sebastian.

"My hands were being decent!" the archer replied, offended.

"Unlike those of your friend, it seems!" the warrior quipped, grabbing the mage from the arm and leading her out of the room.

"But I didn't see… much!" she protested.

"Well then, much better!" Fenris grumbled. "You don't need to get any more ideas," he murmured. In spite of himself, he found it amusing that she seemed so curious about physical questions. Of course she was – the last time they'd parted, things between them had been almost too hot to handle. He no longer saw her as an innocent young woman, but he refused to expose her to unnecessary depravity. He'd seen more than his fair share back in Tevinter, and he thought that she didn't need to be spoiled. He liked her just as she was, simple and pure, with honest eyes that were watching him with a hint of desire. Actually, it was more than just a hint.

Wait, what?

"Elf!" Varric snapped his fingers in front of Fenris's eyes. "You might want to get a room before doing anything. Just saying…"

"What are you talking about?" the elf frowned, noticing that Irina was clearing her throat and adjusting her hair underneath her cowl.

"The way you two are looking at each other… It's a good thing that Sebastian is not here. He wouldn't like you toying with his bride…"

"You must mean that Andraste figure on his crotch," Fenris replied angrily, "because Irina's not his bride, and where is he?"

Sebastian came out of the room, huffing and dragging Isabela behind him. "Wait! Just… Let me see! She was just about to use the feather!" the pirate whined.

"A feather? What for?" Irina asked, intrigued.

"Oh, for the love of Andraste," Sebastian whimpered, "can't we just move on?"

* * *

He was glowering. Nobody had seen him this angry before. As he stomped along the corridors, they heard the voice of a man shouting, "Release her!"

"Finally!" Sebastian sighed, relieved. "Brett Harimann's in there. He was always the voice of reason!" He opened the door. "Brett!"

"Can't you see we need to melt those locks as well?" young Master Harimann was scolding his manservant. "How else are we going to turn her into a statue? You'll be so beautiful, my dear…" he cooed.

Letting out a howl of frustration, Sebastian ran towards Brett Harimann and punched him square on the jaw. The young man, however, did not seem to notice, so he punched him again.

Varric and the others watched his companion shake the Harimann boy by the shoulders, and all the while Brett was shouting, "More locks! More locks!" They quietly slipped outside and waited.

When it was finally over, Sebastian came out of the room, passed his fingers through his hair, and quietly told them, "Let's go find Lady Harimann, please."

* * *

"I am grateful for your assistance," Sebastian said to Varric a few days later, as they walked across the Gallows yard. "Even though Lady Harimann's actions were beyond questionable, her claims were never considered seriously. It'll take some time, but I might be able to reclaim my rightful place after all."

"Good to hear that," Isabela smiled.

"Why are we here?" Sebastian asked, watching the people shopping for magical wares.

"Oh, I thought that since we're planning to spend more time together, you could meet Solivitus," Varric explained. "He's sometimes in need of precious supplies, and there's good coin for it if you want to do some charity."

"Sounds interesting," the archer smiled.

"Sol!" Varric grinned, shaking the merchant's hand. "This is Sebastian. He'll be helping us on our next trip. You can talk to him and give him all the details."

"Ah, new friends! Always so good to meet new people, eager to work," the man said. "Now, the first item is a harlot's blush-"

"Oh, for-!"

Sebastian turned on his heels and walked away.

**_. . ._**


End file.
